


Mixed Signals

by schneestern



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Sleeping with your boss, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: Hotch keeps finding ways to touch you, but you don't know what it means. You'll find out.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s), Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 244





	Mixed Signals

You’re flying back on the jet. The case you and the team just finished went better than anyone expected and even though you’ve only been a part of the BAU for a few months, you already know that’s not a regular occurence.

In the little kitchenette at the back of the jet you’re looking for a cold bottle of water. You feel proud of your contribution to the team’s work the last couple of days and are glad that they adopted you as one of their own so quickly.

There’s a noise behind you and Hotch joins you in the cramped space.

“Everything alright, Y/N?” He steps past you to the coffee machine.

“Yes, thank you, sir.” You watch his hands work, picking a mug, pouring the coffee and momentarily forget what you were doing.

You try not to think about it too much, but your boss is kind of your type and it’s distracting.

“You did good back there. I like how well you can get into the familial aspects of an UnSub’s background. It’s a very valuable skill to have.” Hotch doesn’t look up as he says it and you’re glad, because you’re blushing.

“Thank you, sir, that means a lot.” 

Now he looks at you and gives you one of those rare half-smiles, just the corner of his mouth turning up. “I keep telling you to call me Hotch.”

You smile back at him and are most definitely blushing now. “I’ll remember it this time, si--I mean, Hotch.”

His smile gets a little bigger and then he picks up his coffee cup.

When he walks behind you, for just a brief moment, his body touches yours and then he’s gone before you can process what just happened.

You turn around and watch him walk back to the seat, the way he carries himself, so full of authority.

There was enough room back here. No reason for him to get this close. 

And yet.

You finally find a cool enough water bottle and return to your seat as well, sit down in your spot next to Hotch. 

He doesn’t look up, when you sit down. 

And maybe it’s only your imagination, but the next time you look over, he seems to have leaned a little more towards you.

But maybe you just imagined that too.

***

It’s late, but you’re still at your desk, on a roll with your reports. You’re hellbent to get this last one done before the weekend. You’ll probably only need about another hour.

“Y/N, what are you still doing here?”

You look up to find Hotch leaning against your desk, stern look on his face.

“I’m almost done, I just need to finish this report.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and walks around the table behind you. 

That eyebrow thing is something that really makes your knees weak, even if you should probably not have thoughts like that about your boss.

“Let me see,” Hotch says quietly and he’s standing right behind you, leaning over your shoulder.

He smells nice, something clean and minty and beneath that a scent that you’ve come to know as uniquely his.

You realize you haven’t moved at all and should probably show him what you’re working on. 

In an effort not to be even more awkward about it, you lean back and slide the folder with your report closer to him on the desk.

You’re surprised when you realize that his hand is on the back of your chair. He doesn’t pull away, when you lean back though. His knuckles brush your shoulder blade and goosebumps crawl up the side of your arm.

Hotch seems oblivious to your very unprofessional reaction. “This will take you at least another hour,” he says thoughtfully, scanning what you have so far.

You swallow and try to ignore his warm hand at your back. “I know, but I really want to finish this before I head out tonight.” 

You look up at him and he’s right there, looking back with that closed off face of his that you always try to read without really getting anywhere.

“Alright,” he nods. “I appreciate the commitment, but if you’re still here in an hour, I’m throwing you out.”

He pulls away and maybe you imagine it, but his hand lingers for just a moment longer at your back than is strictly necessary.

“Yes, sir,” you say and smile at him.

He gives you a long, unreadable look in return and heads back to his office.

You spend the next couple of minutes pointedly not looking up to where he’s sitting at his desk.

It’s probably nothing at all. 

Hotch is always this concerned when it comes to his team.

***

The UnSub got you good and you’re holding your wrist, leaning against the SUV while you wait for the medics to get to you. 

He kept swinging around a bat and knocked the gun right out of your hand. Your wrist is the collateral damage. It’s already swelling, purple bruises forming under your skin.

“How do you feel, Y/N?” Hotch is walking over to you, a look of concern on his face.

You give him an easy smile. “I’m okay, Hotch, just a little bruising. It’s fine.”

Hotch stops in front of you and frowns, notes the way you’re cradling your wrist to your body.

“Let me take a look,” he says and you’re already shaking your head before he’s done talking. “Honestly, it’s nothing, Hotch, don’t worry.”

“Let me see,” he says and he uses _that_ voice, the one that makes something warm curl in your belly and allows no objection.

You gingerly stretch out your hand and he takes it with both of his.

Hotch slowly and carefully presses his thumbs along the sides of your hand. It hurts like hell and you wince, almost pulling away. 

He gives you another of those pointed looks, then turns your hand over and slides his fingers over the inside of your wrist. 

You really want to ask him what he’s doing, because you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have medical training, but something makes you stay quiet. 

The intense focus he gives your wrist makes something in your chest soften and you very deliberately concentrate on keeping your breathing even.

Hotch methodically straightens out each of your fingers in turn and you flinch, but hold your hand steady.

When he’s done, Hotch carefully pushes your hand back towards your stomach and the tips of his fingers briefly graze your shirt, before he moves away.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but if you don’t cool it soon, the swelling might cause problems.” He turns to the side, searching and then, “Hey! Morgan! Can you get a medic with an ice pack over here to look at Y/N?”

Morgan gives a thumbs up from the other side of the parking lot.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you say quietly and for the briefest of moments his usual poker face slips and there’s such an open, vulnerable look on his face that it makes you catch your breath.

Then it’s gone and Hotch is all business again. 

“Not a problem. Once you’re done with the medic, we need to head back out, the jet will be ready in half an hour and it will take us a while to get to the airfield.”

You nod and as you watch him walk away you can still feel the faint touch of his hands on yours.

***

It’s late, you’re tired, you’ve had a shitty day and you’re the last one in the office. A typical Monday.

You balance a few folders under one arm and your purse and a small bag of cookies under the other one. 

JJ brought some leftovers from a family party and you gratefully accepted them. Her cookies make you think of home and your parents. You never say no to them and you have a feeling JJ knows that.

You walk up to Hotch’s office to drop off your files. It seems like he forgot to turn off the lamp by the couch. You decide to dump the files on his desk, turn off the light and then get the hell out of here.

While you’re still contemplating, if you should get takeout later or not, you step over the threshold into Hotch’s office and give a half-muffled scream. A few of the files slip out of your grip, because the office is not actually empty.

Hotch is standing behind his desk, open shirt hanging from his shoulders, hands frozen in mid air, probably in the process of buttoning it.

“Uhm,” you say and desperately try to think of something more intelligent to say than that.

Hotch gives you an amused look, but is already coming around the table.

“Did you think you were the last one?” His voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t used it for a few hours.

“Yes, yeah, sorry. I’ll just, ah, leave. I didn’t know you were--” you wave your hand at his half-dressed state.

“Don’t worry,” he says and before you can stop him, he gets down on one knee before you and starts picking up the files that slipped from your grasp. “I was just getting ready for the fundraiser later. It seemed more convenient to do it here instead of wasting time to go home, change and then go back the other way.”

You nod dumbly, because your eyes are glued to his naked chest and the muscles rippling there and--you shake your head and try to stop staring at your boss’s naked chest. 

_Inappropriate_ , a voice in your head helpfully reminds you.

Hotch looks up from where he’s kneeling on the floor and his eyes meet yours. He holds your gaze for a moment, his facing betraying absolutely nothing.

Then he gets back up, his shirt swishing against his sides. 

He reaches a hand out and for one irrational moment you have the intense feeling that he’s about to pull you closer.

But he just plucks the rest of the files from under your arm. “I suppose these are for me anyway?”

You finally manage a nod. “Uh, yes, thank you. For picking those up,” you finish lamely.

He gives you another look before he walks back around his desk. He drops your files on top of some others and goes back to deftly buttoning up his shirt.

You watch him, even though there’s really no reason for you to even still be here. But your feet won’t move.

“Do you need anything else, Y/N?” Hotch asks and he doesn’t look at you, but something about his tone makes you realize, for the first time really, that you and him seem to be alone together a lot.

You don’t know what to make of that.

“No, sir, I mean, no. Hotch.” 

You turn and walk to the door. Before you leave his office you turn back around again. You have no idea what compels you to say it, but you quietly tell him, “You look good by the way. I hope you have a good time at the fundraiser.”

He pauses in the middle of slipping into his jacket and looks at you. His eyes are almost black in the half light of the office and you swallow hard. 

Hotch opens his mouth to say something and you feel that tingle all over your body again, like something is about to happen. 

Then he closes his mouth and slips on his jacket.

“Thank you, Y/N, have a good night,” he finally says.

You walk out, unsure what to make of the encounter.

***

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, almost to yourself, hands against the wall, head hanging between your shoulders, looking at the linoleum floor, but not really seeing it.

You feel a bead of sweat roll down between your shoulder blades and you think about how close the two of you just came to actually and truly dying.

Hotch is leaning next to you, back against the wall, eyes closed. He keeps rubbing the fingers of his left hand together. A nervous tick you’ve seen on him only a few times before.

“That was so fucked,” you say, still whispering, although you don’t know why. There’s no reason to be quiet.

It’s you, Hotch, three dead bodies and the approaching police sirens in the distance.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Hotch quietly says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the two of you walked into this ambush.

This place should have been empty. Instead they were waiting for you and only your ridiculous instinct for danger saved the two of you. 

You walked in the door and before your conscious mind could register anything out of the ordinary, an animal instinct made you shove Hotch to the side, hard, while you dropped to the floor.

The first bullet only grazed Hotch’s shirt.

You both started shooting at the same time and killed the three men instantly.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. Your watch tells you it has only been a couple of minutes.

“It was just instinct,” you finally say and raise your head to look over at him. He still has his eyes closed, but you can sense the way he’s paying attention to you.

“Still, you saved my life. Thank you.”

“Anyone would have,” you assure him and reach for his shoulder, squeeze it.

His eyes snap open and for a moment you see everything: the fear of almost dying, the rush of surviving, the anger of walking into an ambush.

You move closer without thinking, pressing into his side, hand sliding down over his FBI vest, covering the letters with your hand.

His breathing picks up and he frowns at you, but he doesn’t push you away either.

You hold his gaze and realize, probably for the first time, how second nature it has become that the two of you keep touching like this. How you crave the connection with him. 

And also that he is your boss, which makes all of it kind of inappropriate.

Still, it’s not enough reason for you to let go.

You finally have to look away, but the two of you stand like that for what feels like a long time. After a while his breathing evens out and you unconsciously match him.

“Listen, Y/N,” he says and his voice catches slightly. You chance a glance at his face and are surprised to see that his features have softened and he’s looking almost tenderly at you. 

It’s not something you’ve ever seen from him. 

He says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, maybe we could--”

He’s interrupted by the sound of car doors slamming and voices shouting from a distance.

You instinctively step away from him, but he catches your wrist. You flinch, because it’s still tender and he immediately relaxes his hold. “Let’s finish this conversation later, okay?”

You nod just as the door swings open and the others storms in. 

Hotch lets go of your hand.

They’re full of concern and as you reassure Morgan and Reid that you’re perfectly fine, just some bruises, you watch as Hotch effortlessly switches back to being the boss, quietly briefing Rossi on what happened.

You try not to dwell too much on what it is that Hotch wants to talk to you about, but the thought lingers long after you’ve left the scene and are back on the jet heading home.

***

You’re out celebrating that, “We’re all still alive, dammit,” as Rossi so eloquently put it. 

You know what it’s really about: You all need to remind yourselves how close it was this time, how Hotch and you almost bit it at a deserted farmhouse in Arizona of all places.

You would love to be home instead of at this bar, but you understand the need to unwind and part of you does need it too.

You wonder if Hotch will take this chance to talk to you, whatever it is that he meant to speak to you about.

But he barely gives you a second glance all evening and maybe that’s the reason you let yourself get dragged to the dance floor by Garcia and Reid. 

By some cruel twist of fate you end up sitting next to Hotch, when you return to the booth. 

You feel how close he is, his warm solid presence next to you and still he’s deep in conversation with JJ next to him, like you’re not there.

It’s starting to make your head hurt and you decide you need a break from all of this. Whatever _this_ is.

You get up too fast and mumble something about, “Fresh air.” You can hear Rossi laughing, clearly thinking you can’t hold your liquor and you’re almost glad for the diversion as you push through the crowd.

Outside the night air is crisp and cold. You immediately feel a little better.

You lean against a wall outside the bar and for some reason really crave a cigarette. You smoked when you were younger, but haven’t touched a cigarette in years. 

You shiver and fold your arms in front of your chest. You should probably just get an Uber and call it a night. The others are probably too drunk to mind you bailing early anyway.

“Hey.”

You turn to the familiar voice and there’s Hotch, standing in the quiet night air with you.

You’re still not used to him in casual clothes, black slacks and a dark green wool sweater.

“Hey, yourself,” you say, a moment too late.

He walks up to you and leans against the wall next to you. His shoulder brushes yours.

You can feel your heartbeat pick up.

“Listen,” he says, voice quiet and warm, “I’ve been an idiot. I promised you a talk and then never followed up on that. I just don’t know how--I don’t know how to start.”

You steel yourself for whatever it is he has to say and look straight ahead to the empty street, when you say, “Just tell me, Hotch.”

You can feel him inhale and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been behaving inappropriately with you and I apologize for that. I should’ve been more professional and instead I can’t--. I mean, in the last few months I was anything but that. And I, ah, I shouldn’t because I’m your boss and we’re just--,” his voice catches and you can see him run a hand over his face out of the corner of your eye.

His words catch you off guard. After all this time when you thought he was just, well, nice to you, he was really looking for more. Just like you.

A slow smile spreads on your face as you turn to him and meet his gaze. The look on his face changes from puzzled to painfully open.

You uncross your arms without thinking and take his hand where he’s stiffly holding it against his body. Without breaking the gaze you hold his hand and squeeze it.

His eyes widen.

“Take me home, Aaron?”

It’s an offer and you see him consider it with all its implications. 

Finally, he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

***

It’s quiet in the car. Aaron drives just fast enough to not break the speed limit and you’re sitting next to him wondering what the hell the two of you are doing.

Yes, you have all but invited him to your home for who knows what, but he’s still your boss and you’re pretty sure you’re about to royally fuck up your whole career. 

For a night with your boss.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel his hand on your thigh. 

He gives you a questioning look and when you don’t say anything, he leaves it there, resting comfortably on your thigh.

His hand is warm through your jeans and comforting and for some reason it makes you breathe a little easier.

You look down at his fingers covering most of your leg. You think about later and what might happen, a shiver running through your body.

You turn to look at him. 

Aaron is focused on the street, other hand easily holding on to the steering wheel. But you can feel the barely contained nervousness radiate from him and something else that feels a lot like anticipation.

He licks his lips and you quickly look back to the road.

***

You unlock the door to your apartment, suddenly feeling shy. You wonder what he will think of your place, small, and cramped but warm and all yours.

He walks in behind you and the door clicks shut.

“Look,” you begin, your back still turned to him. You have every intention of keeping this professional.

He doesn’t let you finish. His arm winds around your waist effortlessly and he pulls you into him. He leans down and sucks an open-mouthed kiss into your neck.

You’re pressed against him and feel the way his cock is already half-hard against your back. 

All your hesitation evaporates and you make a small noise halfway between a whimper and a moan.

“Bedroom?” Hotch asks against your shoulder, slipping your coat off.

“To the right, at the end of the hall,” and you barely recognize this raspy version of your voice.

You lead the way and he follows, holding your hand like you’re just out for a walk. It’s stupidly endearing and you think that this might be the moment you will remember tomorrow, the calluses on his fingers and the warmth of his touch.

Your thoughts keep rushing ahead to Hotch in your bedroom and his mouth on you and--

\--he catches you again and presses you against the door frame to your bedroom. Then his lips are on yours and you lose yourself in the kiss, the way his tongue slides against you, almost familiar. 

His body is pressed against yours just so and your hand finds the back of his neck, sliding into the soft hair there.

It should be strange that you took your boss home, that he’s kissing you like this, his tongue tangling with yours. Instead it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch breaks away and you can feel his breath against your cheek. His eyes are blown wide and you realize how easy it is to read his face like this, nothing like the carefully neutral look he has when you’re at the office.

You can tell that he’s just as turned on as you, but you can also see that underneath that his thoughts are chasing each other.

“Hey,” you whisper and catch his hand. “You need to stop worrying.”

He looks caught and sighs, “I know, I want to, it’s just--not that easy.”

You nuzzle against his jaw. “I know, but trust me. This is something I’ve wanted for a while.”

He pulls back and gives you another one of those long looks. His hair has fallen into his eyes and you swallow, because really you’re not sure if you could stop now, even if he asked you to.

You have no idea why you do it, but you keep holding onto his hand, while you unbutton your jeans with the other one. Before he has time to protest, you tug on Aaron’s hand and slide it down your stomach, into your panties.

When the tips of his fingers graze your pussy and he realizes how wet you already are, his eyes darken. 

“Is that convincing enough?” you manage to get out. His fingers slide over your folds, barely touching, barely giving you any friction and you bite your lip as you look at him.

“Yeah,” he says softly and before you have time to reply, he slips two fingers into you, slowly starting a languid rhythm, watching for your reaction intently.

You hold onto his arms, because you can barely stand up while he’s looking at you like that. 

“More,” you moan, but he just keeps going at his own pace, slow and steady and it’s driving you insane.

His fingers inside you are warm and thick and you try to move your hips to take him in deeper. 

“Needy,” he says around a smile and you swallow. His voice is dark and full of promise.

“Please,” you get out and he rewards you with a third finger, slipping inside you, spreading you open.

You bite your lip, let your full weight rest against the door frame. You can feel heat pooling low in your belly already and a moan bubbles up.

Aaron tilts his head, “Don’t hide,” he says and you groan, because that voice of his is just too much.

He keeps moving his fingers inside you, slow, easy, nothing like what you want. When his thumb brushes your clit, you arch against him, but he keeps the touch light and soft.

“ _Please_ , Aaron,” and you sound so desperate already, but he’s taking his time.

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Please, what?” and you can almost hear the smile in his voice.

“I need--I want. More. All of it.” His fingers are still inside of you. Aaron laughs, softly, a sound that tickles the sensitive skin just behind your ear.

“Yeah, me too,” he says and his voice is rough.

And just like that he’s gone, his hand slipping from your panties, stepping away.

You whimper, can’t help it. When you find his gaze you’re glad to see that he’s just as flustered, dick straining against the zipper of his pants.

He looks at you like he wants to eat you right up and it makes your breath stutter and skip.

“You sure about this?” He looks serious, but you nod before he has even finished the question.

“Alright. Okay.” Hotch swallows. “Undress. Lie on the bed.”

It takes some effort to make your body move, but you slip from between him and the door frame. 

You walk to the bed, suddenly nervous to look at him as you unbutton your blouse and let it drop to the floor. Next are your jeans. You wriggle out of them, standing by the foot of the bed.

When you turn to look back at Aaron he’s just standing there, watching you and almost absently rubbing his dick through his pants. 

It’s such a stark contrast to the buttoned up, serious version of him that you know from work, that you have a hard time reconciling the fact that this is the same man.

“Fuck,” you say before you can hold it back.

You can see the corner of his lip twitch. “On the bed,” he says and you lie down without thinking, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Aaron pulls his wool sweater over his head, lets it drop to the floor. The white t-shirt he’s wearing beneath it joins it there a second later.

He watches you intently as he starts unbuttoning his pants.

You can’t help yourself, you move and slide a hand down into your panties. Your fingers trail over your clit, watching him undress.

“Jesus, look at you,” he says roughly.

He steps out of his pants and then slides his boxers down, impatient now. His dick is hard, straining up against his belly and you moan, working your clit with your fingers.

Hotch moves onto the bed, over you, his whole body covering yours. Your hand is trapped between your body and his and you feel the heat from him, when he kisses you again.

It’s more urgent now, Aaron’s tongue insistent against yours. His hand finds yours, where it’s curled around his hip, pulls it up over your head. Aaron moves off of you just enough so he can pluck your other hand from between your bodies, moves it over your hand as well.

You’re pinned beneath him, by his body and his hands, and you have trouble focusing.

Arching off the bed you shamelessly try to rub against him. His dick slides against your hip and you whine, needing more contact.

Aaron breaks the kiss, his gaze finds yours. He’s breathing hard and his pupils are blown wide. “Do you,” he swallows, “do you have a condom?”

You blink at him, willing your brain to work. “Yeah, uh, in the drawer of the nightstand.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow at you and you shrug. You’re not going to pretend like you’re ashamed of that.

He lets go of your hands and stretches, leans over you. You watch the muscles in his chest and stomach work, his cock dragging over your belly.

With your hands free you only hesitate a moment, before you wrap one around his dick.

Aaron makes a surprised noise and for a moment his arm buckles from where’s holding himself up, trying to get to your nightstand. 

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, but there’s a laugh in his voice and you experimentally slide your hand up over the length of his dick, tightening your grip.

He swallows audibly and you hear him go through your nightstand, belatedly realizing that there are a few other things in there apart from condoms.

Your hand stills on his dick, blush creeping up your cheeks just as Aaron moves back down, holding a condom between his fingers.

“Seems like you’ve been holding out on me, Y/N,” he says roughly and your cheeks heat up even more at the reminder of the toys in your nightstand. 

“Uh, sorry about that?” You’re really not sure of his reaction, but he leans down and kisses your cheek where the blush is turning it hot.

“Let’s leave that for later. But don’t think I won’t want to know more about all of that. Especially the ropes.” His eyes hungrily slide down your body, before he meets your gaze again. “I’m really enjoying this side of you.”

You give him a lopsided smile. “Not sure I wanted you to see what’s inside that drawer.”

Aaron huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t answer. Instead he leans down and kisses along the side of your neck. You twitch, your hand tightening around his dick again. 

He nips at your collar bone in return, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin just beneath it.

His lips trail lower, grazing the curve of your bra, where it cups your breast. 

“Let’s get that off,” he murmurs against your skin.

He drops the condom on the bedspread and deftly gets a hand under your back, unsnaps your bra and pulls it off. Your nipples harden against the rush of air and Aaron loses no time, slides his thumbs along the crease under your breasts before he cups them. 

You moan, restless now, desperate for more. “Aaron, c’mon, just, fuck, _please_.”

He smirks at you and that’s it, you decide you’ve had enough.

You catch him by surprise and so it’s relatively easy to push him off you and straddle him on the bed. He actually growls, but his hands curl around your hips and he seems content with the change of position.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, hooks his fingers in your panties. With a little wriggling and bending you manage to get them off and straddle his thighs again.

You can feel how wet you are, your pussy spread open with your legs on either side of him. Aaron’s dick curves between you, wet and glistening at the tip and yeah, you really don’t want to wait.

You plug the condom from the bedspread, open it and unceremoniously roll it over his dick. Aaron’s hands find your hips again, still under you, waiting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

You move up and over him, your hand curled around his dick, guiding it to your pussy.

When you sink down on him, slowly, to give yourself time to adjust to his size, you both moan.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says and his voice sounds awed. You’ve never heard him swear so much and it’s doing something very interesting to you.

You sink down the rest of the way, his cock filling you up, balls snug against your ass. 

You take a moment to get used to him filling you up. 

His thumbs stroke your hip bones and he’s watching you, waiting for you to be ready and fuck, if that isn’t just like Hotch to be this considerate even when he has his cock buried all the way inside you.

“You know,” he says, almost conversationally, “I’ve been thinking about this for months.” Aaron sounds almost casual, but you can see the heat in his eyes, the way he’s straining to keep still underneath you.

“Tell me,” you say, voice husky as you slowly start to move on top of him, sharp, precise movements of your hip, riding his cock.

“Been thinking about fucking you on the jet that one time. Or over your desk, when you were so focused to get your report done. Or at the bar, right there in the booth, in front of everyone.”

You can’t believe he’s saying all this to you, how he’s kept all of it hidden from you for so long. “Very unprofessional, _sir_.” And you know you’re pushing him, but you don’t care.

Aaron growls, actually growls, and you blink, one moment you’re on top of him, the next you're underneath him from where he’s flipped you over.

He grabs one of your legs, hooks it over his shoulder. “I’ll show you unprofessional,” he purrs into your ear and your hands slide over his back, just holding on.

Aaron fucks into you, not holding back, his cock sliding almost all the way out and back in again. On every downstroke he fills you deep and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly.

“Aaron, I’m, fuck, I’--,” you can’t get the words out, but he kisses you in response, hard and fast, working his hips, fucking you open.

You must have closed your eyes, because you snap them open, when you feel his thumb against your lips, pressing in. You slide your tongue around it, catch his gaze.

Then Aaron trails his hand between your bodies and starts rubbing his thumb over your clit, just enough pressure to make you lose your mind.

The sensations are too much, the way he fucks you, fast but steady, the pressure against your clit sending sparks through your body. His eyes never leave yours and the intensity there, the promise of more makes your heart stutter.

You’re shamelessly moaning now, something between _fuck_ and _Aaron_ and _more_. You’re so close you can feel it, heat pooling in your body. 

“That’s it, Y/N,” your name sounds almost obscene on Aaron’s lips. “Let me see you come,” he says and that’s what finally pushes you over.

You shudder under him, your pussy clenching around his dick as you come hard, your orgasm rolling through your body like waves.

Aaron keeps fucking you through it, not slowing down at all and you hold onto him, lost in the feeling of him inside you. 

His chest is slick where it rubs against your breasts and even as you come down, his thumb still slides against your clit, almost too much now, but you squeeze around his dick.

“Aaron, fuck, Aaron,” you keep saying his name over and over and then you feel him tense, his hips stuttering against you.

Aaron comes with a small gasp, spilling inside you, dick pulsing. He loses his rhythm and shamelessly fucks into you, gasping your name.

When his breathing finally evens out, you feel him pull out of you. He ties the condom up and carelessly throws it over the side of the bed.

“Well, fuck you,” you say, but it has no bite and you have to hide a smile.

“I believe I just did,” he murmurs and rolls off of you, fitting his body against your side.

You laugh and revel in the feeling of his naked skin against yours, sticky but warm. “I can’t believe we just did that,” you say and don’t really know where to look.

“Yeah, me either.” Aaron’s voice is almost tender and you’re surprised again at this new side of him, so open now, just for you.

“So what do we do now?” You ask, but of course you’re kind of asking more than that. How will you handle this tomorrow at work and where the hell is this going at all anyway? You think about how you should be a lot more freaked out that you just slept with your boss, but you’re really not.

Aaron’s hand trails up your belly, caresses the underside of your breast. “Well,” he says, voice scratchy but sure. “I’ll probably need a couple more minutes and then I want you to show me some of those toys in your nightstand.”

You turn your head sharply and catch the smile he’s trying to hide. “And then tomorrow we’ll go to work, pretend like this never happened. And after work, I’m going to take you out on a proper date and we’ll take it from there.”

You slowly let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “That sounds like a good plan,” you finally say and reach out to brush a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “Maybe my boss will let me go a bit earlier tomorrow.”

Aaron chuckles softly, fingers brushing against your nipple, making you squirm. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince him,” he says before he leans over and kisses you, warm and full of promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote an actual Y/N-fic. Never thought that would happen, but apparently Aaron Hotchner has that effect on me. But anyway, this is just really shameless, smutty fun. 
> 
> Technically, some of the things Hotch does here could be viewed as mild sexual harassment in a regular workplace. But we all know why we're here (hint: the smut), so I hope you'll forgive me on that count and roll with it.


End file.
